Brother, you wound me! As if I could not easily maintain two lovers at once without either suspecting my attentions to the other. I recall a bawdy month in Cornwall when my bedroom was so ideally situated between those of the master and the mistress of the house that I could go from one t'other without anyone being the wiser. You need not fear that I am not up to the task. You must know that I am always upfor the task. There is a quite striking footman who enjoys being buggered and I have added him to my dance card as well. I need all of the entertainments I can find to keep myself from going quite mad at the hands of Lord Dull and his family. They are all brutally healthy in that raw, horsey way. Lady D looks as if she could win the Derby without a horse beneath her. And the younger Lady C plays piano as if she has hooves. It took all of my reserves of patience not to slam the lid upon her fingers in the name of Euterpe.
Are you quite certain that you have not sent me on a fool's errand? I cannot imagine Lord Dull having the wit to be a spy. I don't even believe that he speaks French! As a test, I offered, " Ce cul est une véritable splendeur" (which is woefully untrue). His response? "Eh? I was never much good at Latin." I did have the satisfaction of hearing Sir John giggle. He didn't understand what I said (thank GOD! I should far more truthfully say it of him), but had intelligence enough to recognize the beauty of la langue française. He has the most delightful giggle.
As to the other, I am not sure that Lord D speaks that language either. I sent my man to fetch him so that I could compliment him on the wallpaper, or some such rubbish, and contrived to be still enjoying my bath when he arrived. How I acted surprised and most apologetic, and 'did he mind if I just had the servant dry me off so that I could dress?' He was slack-jawed as I rose from the water and allowed my skin to be rubbed raw to fill his senses, but it was no different from his usual drooling mien. If his manhood had not shown its interest, I should have feared that I was getting old. And there is where the matter…stands, as it were.
But Sir John…ah, there is a far more challenging game. In addition to that damned oath, I must overcome his supposed disinterest in the male form. There is the foe for me; there is the goal at which I dare to aim. You know how keen are my desires, how I brush aside obstacles to them. It is so refreshing to find one who does not practice deception as we do. In John, there is no guile. He laughs when he is amused and frowns when he is not. And most charmingly he does not tolerate falsity in others.
Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us? What we call happiness is hardly even a pleasure. Many have said that I have no heart, and I have been resigned to its absence, but John revives—nothing so cheap as love—but rather ardour for both the hunt and game. The only thing which frightens me is the time this adventure is going to take. I cannot play my usual games with John. He would assuredly see through a ruse as obvious as the one in the bath. To become truly happy, I need him to give himself to me of his own free will. I have begun to 'admit' to my worst traits in order to combat the stories which I am sure will come to his ears,. He foolishly believes that there is a 'good' man within me. I will use that optimism to woo him from the God he loves. Let him believe in virtue and sacrifice it to me. He will resist his fall, will fight it as a warrior, but I will win.
Au revoir, Mycroft.
SH
***
Much, much thanks to archea2 for the brilliant French phrase. I also stole heavily from de Laclos for this one-scary when it works.